I wanted to tell her that she wasn’t fine, that she was an idiot, that we all were, because what did we expect to happen, off-roading in a vehicle that wasn’t meant for off-roading with limited visibility and unpredictable terrain?

I heard Victoria sit up before my eyes could process what little movement I was able to see. There was a shuffling sound, and then there was light. “Let’s hear it for dresses with pockets,” she said, brandishing her phone.

Flashlight mode let me see just far enough that I was able to spot Lily. She’d landed much farther from Victoria and me than either one of us had been from the other. My brain said that didn’t make sense. Lily had been sitting right beside me. Victoria was the one who’d been in the back.

As I crawled carefully toward Lily, I let my thoughts race, let my brain outline all the reasons that if I was in one piece, Lily had to be, too.

“Lily.” I reached her. “Are you okay?”

Unlike Victoria, she didn’t moan. I told myself that it was because Lily was too much of a stickler for manners, and she found moaning uncouth.

“Lil—”

“Sawyer.”

For a fraction of a second, I was terrified that Victoria was the one who’d said my name, even though it had come from Lily’s direction, even though I was close enough to her body now to practically feel the words on my face.

“You’re okay?” I said.

Lily let out a long and wobbly breath. “I’m in significantly better condition than my dress.”

Leave it to her to be thinking about our clothing at a time like this.

“Victoria?” Lily asked.

“I’m fine.” Victoria punctuated that statement by flooding us with light—not from her phone this time. She’d managed to find the cart. The roof had been knocked clean off, and two of the four bars that had been holding it up were demolished.

At least the lights still worked.

“You’re bleeding,” Victoria stated. I thought she was talking to me, but she quickly corrected that misapprehension. “Not you. Her.” She jerked her head toward Lily, who was still lying on the ground, and who, I could see now, had blood smeared across her face and temple.

“I shall choose to believe,” Lily said, forcing herself into a sitting position, “that her is Victoria’s version of an affectionate nickname.”

I reached out. “Your head.”

Lily swatted my hand away. “Head wounds bleed. It’s what they do. I’m okay.”

“What’s your name?” I asked her. “What’s today’s date? Who’s the president?”

“As long as we’re asking questions,” Victoria said beside me, “Sawyer could enlighten us as to why she and Davis Ames felt the need to step outside back at the gala.”